January 24th, 1990

There were many reasons in his life why Ian Elric had woken up bleary-eyed from a night of next to no sleep, though last night was possibly one of the most incredible. The barn had called to tell Bonnie that her horse was in labor just as they were arriving home from dinner, and they had left the mail on the table, changed into barn appropriate clothes, and run right back out into the cold to the stables.

It had been a very long night, but Ian had found it fascinating as he sat watch with Bonnie and the veterinarian, Nell Collings. Horse birth was nothing like human birth, at least what he knew about either. Rosie didn't cry, or complain, or curse the stallion who bred with her. It was quiet in the barn, and outside of the occasional snort from another horse sleeping in a nearby stall, there wasn't much going on. In fact, it was peaceful and surprisingly warm in the barn, and aside from running out for coffee for all three of them after midnight, there was little enough to do but watch, even right up to the end, as Rosie gave birth without any assistance at all, and began to lick her baby clean.

In the end, the baby proved to be a handsome little colt who looked like a slightly darker chestnut than his mother, with two white socks on the front, and a star on his forehead. It was only when Rosie had licked his whole body clean and the baby had wobbled to his feet that Bonnie entered the stall with a warm towel, and worked on helping wipe the baby fully dry. His little tail flicked back and forth as he ate greedily.

Ian couldn't stop smiling. "Quite the appetite there."

"He eats like you," Bonnie chuckled. "We're not naming him after you though."

"That's fine by me. What are you going to call him?"

"I'm not really sure yet," Bonnie admitted as she finished wiping him while Rosie looked on. "We need to get to know him a little better first, don't you think?"

"That's a lot more forethought than I think most parents give in naming their children," he pointed out. "Though I guess it's probably a good thing people don't usually name their children directly after their defining characteristics." Names might have meanings, but at least they were less obvious.

"Usually." Bonnie stroked Rosie's nose. "We'll give him a few days. For now, he needs to finish his meal and spend time with his mama."

"Who looks very good," the veterinarian said as she finished her inspection of Rosie. "We could all wish we had births as easy as this one."

"Do you have kids?" Bonnie asked curiously.

Collings nodded as she stopped by Rosie's head, rubbing her neck. "Two, and neither one of them came out as easily as this little fellow. I can't say I was this dignified about it either, but then most women will tell you the same. Well, there's not much else to do here for the night. If you like, I'll stay around a bit longer, but I suspect you've both got early mornings ahead."

She was right, of course, and Ian had been afraid Bonnie would refuse to leave, but he was grateful his wife was reasonable. By the time they passed out back at home, it was almost four in the morning.

So getting up to his alarm at seven was both a demonic experience, and yet not one Ian regretted as he put the coffee on. He was just grateful neither one of them had an early call that morning.

It was then that he spotted the mail he had left in a careless pile on the counter the night before in their hurry to rush back out the door. He picked it up, flipping through them for anything interesting: bill, bill, political ad, grocery coupons. His hand stopped dead over the last envelope however, when he saw the familiar AFA logo at the top. For just a moment, his heart skipped, and he tried to will himself to calm as he opened the envelope. If it was here, now, he knew what it meant. Still, it was all he could do to get the envelope open and read the letter. He didn't even read the whole thing, but skipped down to the critical lines.

—inform you that you have been nominated for best actor in a leading role for your work in Golden Warrior—

His whoop of excitement must have been louder than he thought, because seconds later Bonnie scrambled out of the bedroom, looking bleary-eyed, her red-brown hair a tousled mess. "What? What is it, Ian?"

He turned around and grabbed her up in a hug that brought her off the floor. Then, setting his very confused wife down, Ian grinned. "I'm nominated!"

Bonnie's eyes went wide, and realization slowly dawned. "Ian, that's wonderful!" She hugged him back this time with much more enthusiasm, then she grinned. "When you win, we can put it on the shelf with mine."

Gloria did not mean to overhear the conversation between Trisha and Roy, but it was hard not to when Trisha gasped a loud "What do you mean you're not coming?" just as Gloria approached the plane with her one suitcase stuffed tight, and Alexei behind her with his bag. The two State Alchemists were standing off to one side, and Roy looked apologetic, and Trisha almost apoplectic.

"We've been assigned another mission," he explained, hands up defensively. "You'll have to take it up with Whitewater. Proteus and I will be back a little later than planned."

"Ted is in on this?" Trisha was slowly turning an incredible shade of fuchsia. "Why am I not surprised in the least? Fine. Don't tell me. I'll pry it out of Whitewater later, but you'd better come home in one piece, Mustang, or I'll make you wish you had."

"Of course, dear." Roy smiled. "I love you, too."

Gloria didn't hear any more as she got onto the plane, but she caught Alexei's eye, and her fiancé was grinning. "What's so funny?"

"Just making notes about how not to upset the ladies of your family," he said softly into her ear as they put their bags in the storage area and moved to take seats near the front of the main cargo area, where they could sort of sea out the front cockpit windows. It was almost dawn, and with the plane facing south-west, having turned around for take-off, the view was still deep violet. "I wonder how we're going to get off the ground without being seen."

"The same way they did last night," Rex Neil grinned, flexing his fingers as he took one last stretch, then sat down in one of the seats and started to strap in between Felix Tringham and Vastillia Kratz. Caroline Flynn had chosen a seat with a little space, and had her nose buried in a notepad, where she was scribbling away. "As far as our Drachman friends know, it's been thick and foggy all night. You'll see when we fly over."

Well that sounded like a useful trick. "Got your camera ready then?" Gloria asked Alexei, who was wearing it around his neck.

"Of course." He finished strapping in, then helped her with her last strap. "The first images taken from the air; how would I miss that opportunity?"

"You wouldn't, of course." Gloria squeezed his hand, and tried to be more excited than nervous about flight. It would only be another few minutes until they were airborne, and hopefully safely out of reach of the tanks outside the walls.

Lieutenant Rothschild was already in the co-pilot's chair, since Trisha would be flying them out for the first leg back. A minute later and her father joined them, sitting down on the other side of Gloria, and strapping in. He looked just a bit pale, and she decided now was not the time to ask about the discussion she had heard outside. It had been a long night, and no one had really slept. While she hadn't seen the wound on his arm, she knew he had been injured a few days ago, and that he was worried about Charlie. He had told her last night about her brother losing his hand. It was a horrible thing, and Gloria was worried about her little brother, too. Still, there was nothing she could do now except go home and be there for him. She felt a sense of guilt, leaving now, as if she were abandoning Mihalov and his people. She knew that was not the case, and it was best for them to leave, but she would still miss it. Coming back to visit was definitely on her itinerary, when the country was stable again.

Trisha joined them, looking much more her normal skin tone. "All right everyone. Strapped in?" she asked, a little brusquely; all business. She nodded at everyone's murmurs of consent. "Good. Stay strapped unless I tell you it's okay to get up and move. As long as the air isn't too turbulent, there will be a little time where you can get up, stretch, look out windows, and indulge curiosity." With that, she went into the cockpit area, sat down, and strapped in.

"Why aren't Ted and Roy coming with us?" Gloria finally dared to whisper to her father as the engines revved a bit louder and the plane began to move.

He looked at her, and shrugged. "They've got another mission to go on. Given the two of them, I'm sure we'll get quite the story later."

"Is leaving in daylight really the best idea?" Roy whispered as he tried not to get pricked by the huge thorns in the bushes around them as they walked towards a gate Ted had assured him would lead them outside the city without being seen by Drachmans.

"The entire camp is wrapped in fog," Ted pointed out as he put his hands to the wall, located some kind of switch, and the bricks shifted slightly. A moment later, he opened the wall and revealed a passage that ran through it. "With everyone trying to figure out where that plane sound is coming from, they'll be looking up, not down. Mihalov said he was able to get word to his people on the main road and we can borrow a vehicle to drive back to Petrayevka."

"As long as we can get to them."

"It'll be fine. This is how we snuck in, too, though we used an older gate." Ted led the way down the tunnel, and Roy felt a moment of mild tension as Anika closed the one behind them and they were enveloped in a cave of darkness. Ted didn't seem to notice. "I made this one as a model off the old one two days ago. It comes out along a really rocky area that's fairly flat, but dotted with brambles, so it's hard to patrol and there's nowhere good for camping, and cars have no hope of driving through it, so it made a great emergency exit. Ah, here we go."

There was another click, and suddenly vision returned as light filtered in from just a few feet in front of him.

Before long they were standing in another awning of brambles, and Ted had closed the wall behind them. Once again, it looked invisible.

"Maybe you should consider masonry as a career," Roy suggested.

"Only when I get bored with adventuring," Ted quipped, grinning broadly. "Come on, this way."

They had come out of the city at a north-westerly direction, which meant they needed to creep around southward in order to meet up with Mihalov's men who, Roy had been told, would also be looking for them so they could meet up. The password was white tiger. Roy had been told it was not only an animal at the zoo where Anika had worked, but also her father's military nickname for his ferocity and cunning.

If nothing else, that made it easy to remember.

While it felt like forever, Roy's watch assured him that it was only about an hour of creeping through the thick mist and twisting brambles and rocks before they came out suddenly into bright daylight and clear skies.

Ted looked around, and nodded when his eyes lit on a twisted tree. "Yep, this is it," he said softly. "They're supposed to meet us here and escort us in."

"How long do we need to wait?" Anika spoke for the first time since they had left the house.

Ted glanced at the time. "Just another few minutes if they're on time too."

Presuming they weren't spotted by the wrong patrol, or ambushed. Not that Roy was concerned about taking them out. He'd vaporize anything that got in the way if necessary, but it would draw a lot of attention they really didn't want.

Ten minutes later, two soldiers walked out of the trees. As they got closer, they stopped. :What sound do we hear?: a woman's voice called out cautiously.

:The roar of the white tiger,: Anika replied clearly.

They soldiers continued forward until they all met under the tree.

:We received the message,: the woman, who was apparently the ranking officer, informed them. :We have a small civilian car that was used, given our rather unusual circumstances, to bring some of our supplies. It is no longer needed, but will be inconspicuous going into the city. We have filled it with gas. Do you have money for the trip?:

Anika nodded again. Roy knew that Mihalov himself, was bankrolling part of the trip, and had given her plenty for gas, food, and other supplies they might need to purchase. :We are supplied.:

:Good. This way.:

The rest of the trek was surprisingly short, as they came to the line and were let through with a few short words from the officer. In relatively short order they had been brought to the car which, Roy was amused to see, really was a little four-door family car painted a deep midnight blue that he had seen on the streets a few times already on this trip so apparently it was not an uncommon color either. That was good, since they definitely didn't want to stand out.

:Who's driving?: Roy asked, trying to remember to speak only in Drachman. It was likely to be that way for several days, so he might as well get in some practice. He was fairly rusty.

:Anika is,: Ted grinned as she went around to the driver's side, and he opened the front passenger door. :She's the only one of us with a Drachman driver's license.:

:Won't it get us caught if they identify her?: Roy asked with concern as he got in the back seat.

Anika smiled. :Oh, no. My real one is at home with my brothers. This is a very good fake.:

:Do I want to know why you have a fake ID?:

:I transmuted it,: Ted admitted as they buckled in and Anika started the car. :It wasn't too hard to copy her old one and make a simple change to the name and birth date.:

:Then why didn't you just transmute IDs for us too, genius?: Roy asked. It seemed like a logical next step.

:It was much easier to transmute a copy of an existing card.: Ted explained. :I didn't have an ID for me, or you. Just roll with it, okay?:

:Sure, but that's going to make our getaway later difficult if we get pulled over on back roads on our way out of Petrayevka.:

:I'll come up with something.:

Roy sighed. :Of course you will.:

Franz was fairly certain he had drained the coffee pot in his office at least twice by himself in the past two days. He had been right to tell Sara not to wait up for him, because he hadn't made it home the night before at all. Now it was mid-afternoon and he was beginning to wonder if something had gone wrong with the mission. Not that he had expected to hear anything through radio channels while they were still in a dangerous position, and a lack of reports in the Drachman news made it fairly clear that they probably hadn't been shot down. Surely Savahin would be bragging about that if it happened, or at least using an enemy plane over his country to his advantage.

Still, they were waiting for some word that the Ambassadors had been safely removed from Karmatsk, even if they weren't out of Drachma yet, and that the rest of their men in that area were on the way home. The soldiers holding to the south were leading a slow, stately retreat that made them look like they were limping out. It had kept them from further attack. The injured had already made it back to the train and were on their way south.

Franz stood, stretched, and stifled a yawn before going over to the coffee pot on the counter; grateful he did not have to deal with the scramble in the other room to get a fresh cup. There were a few perks to the job, even if dinner last night had been the last two stale donuts in the box from outside. Breakfast had been a bagel with cream cheese and blueberry spread, and only because one of his aides had picked it up on her way to work and almost forced it on him.

Lunch still hadn't happened, and he was beginning to wonder what he would do for dinner. He could request something brought up, or there were still snacks in the break corner of the office outside. If word did not come, he wouldn't be home tonight either.

He returned to his desk, sat down, and finished the paperwork that had been in front of him, putting the request into his out box in the corner. Underneath that, the morning's papers still laid strewn across the desk, a civilian mess of reporting and questions about what was going on in Drachma. What was the strategy? Queries and theories about Sara's return. While most of that press was still favorable, and had dropped to a minimum since she had so far refused a direct interview during initial recovery, there were still skeptics and naysayers. Sara insisted they didn't bother her, but they certainly bothered him. Calls from the press to his office now got handed to Second Lieutenant Brickman, and she had the same response for each one of them. They weren't going to get anything else until Sara was ready to speak with the press, and she would contact whom she decided to speak to. The President had no comment until such time outside of the official military statements released to the public.

Franz's stomach twisted sourly. He shoved the papers aside, and reached for the next item of business on his desk. Just because there was a lot going on did not mean that the everyday and internal needs of the military could go unanswered.

He was half way through reading the most boring report on the tank parts inventory when someone knocked on the door.

"Enter," he called out.

Colonel Barnes poked his head in the door. "President Heimler, General Fischer is on the radio."

Franz had to refrain from bolting out of his chair. Finally! "On my way." He followed Barnes out the door and took the receiver to the radio from the operator. "Whitewater, Report."

"Good to hear from you too, Sir," Cal's voice crackled over the line. "Just wanted to report that both geese are at the nesting site, and papa goose will be heading home shortly."

Both geese. That meant they had gotten all Cretans and Amestrians out of Karmatsk successfully, and to the Marskaya Estate. If they were leaving soon, that meant that refueling was already complete. "Glad to hear it. The pond is quiet without them. Anything else?"

There was a moment of suspicious silence. At least, from Cal it was suspicious. "We've got a couple of goslings coming along behind," he said finally. "The story can wait for drinks."

"With you, anything can wait for drinks." Franz snorted.

"If you say so, Sir." Cal chuckled. "Any new orders?"

"No. Proceed as we discussed."

"Yes, Sir."

All that waiting for one very brief conversation. Franz was definitely curious as to which two goslings had been given some other task to do before coming home. Cal would have said if they weren't also heading home.

Now Franz just needed to get the rest of his people out of Drachma without starting a bigger international incident, and update the Assembly—however vaguely—that things were going according to plan, and work up a press statement so it was ready to go as soon as they arrived.

It wasn't like he didn't have time. They would be landing—weather willing—in just a few hours.

"Excuse me, Sir."

Franz turned. It was First Lieutenant Armstrong-Evans. He didn't even remember how she was related to Alex, but she was as pretty and blond as every other member of the family Franz had ever met. She had only been on his staff for a few months, but she was a diligent and detail-oriented person. She was also the quietest Armstrong relative he had ever met, which made her almost entirely normal in comparison. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

"The Assembly is discussing border security in half an hour. They just called. They would like your input, Sir."

So much for time. "Are they still on the phone, Evans?"

"No, Sir."

"Call them back and tell them I'll be right down." He headed for his office to grab his uniform jacket, which had been hanging on the back of his chair since the day before. "And after that, make sure there's creamer in my office." If he had to live off the stuff, it didn't all have to be dark sludge.

There was something otherworldly about flying, Cal had decided, that he wasn't sure he liked. That was the strange feeling that he had stepped out of sync with time with the rest of the world, as they hung above it in the vast open sky, only to drop to the earth in a few scant hours, hundreds of miles from where they had started. No watching the landscape change around them; no weather while they were above the clouds. It was another world entirely in the sky.

Being sent off to war, or even a defensive mission like the one they had just been on, was a thing of weeks, or months, with almost as much time to get home as to get out there. Yet now, within less than a week, Cal had hopped from a combat front, to an estate, to a city hundreds of miles north, and back again, and was now on his way home to Central.

The mission that had stalled for weeks had been accomplished in a few short days, with no more casualties, all due to one incredible piece of technology, and two people trained to fly it.

The number of people had been rearranged for priority once they hit the ground at the Marskaya estate, and Cal found himself on the first flight back to Central, along with both Ambassadors, all four of the remaining Cretan staff and security, and the most critical Amestrian staff, but also Gloria and Alexei. The rest of the State Alchemists, and the Security team from the Amestrian Embassy. It was a tight flight, but not one that over-loaded the carrying capacity of the plane.

Whisper and the Lieutenant were up front. Rothschild was flying this leg, while Trisha slept. She would then fly them back to pick up the second run. By midday tomorrow, everyone would be safely back in Amestris.

What felt wrong, Cal realized, was the fact that he had sent his severely wounded son home on a train, and he was going to beat him back home by several days. It shouldn't be possible, but it was. Realizing that just made him feel older.

He had no idea if his family even knew he was arriving home tonight. It depended on what the military had decided to tell them. Or, at least, what Franz Heimler had decided to tell them.

What he did know, from Trisha, was that Alphonse and Elicia –along with Edward and Winry—had been in Central for most of the month, helping out as they could where they were needed most. That did not surprise him: it was just what the Elrics did; they took care of their own.

It was dark, and well after sensible dinner time, when Rothschild announced that they were coming in for a landing over Central.

Cal just shook his head, and watched in amusement as Gloria and Alexei finished oohing over the view out the few windows on the plane, and taking pictures, and got back in their seats and strapped in before the descent. Cal would just be glad to be back on the ground. His stomach did not like the up and down, even with a landing as smooth as he had been assured all of theirs had been so far.

Central did not look all that different from Drachma at first glance, he thought, when he was finally able to not-quite-stumble out of the plane and back onto the solid earth. It had clearly been snowing here too, and there were several inches of snow on the ground more than when he had last seen it.

It was not an airfield really, he realized, but a military vehicle depot outside of town. Which meant this was probably where they had been hiding the plane since Xing.
Lined up in the parking lot were several official looking government cars, and several figures bundled in coats were already moving towards the plane. At a glance, Cal recognized Franz Heimler himself, a woman who looked like the Cretan Ambassador to Amestris—probably coming to see her colleague—a couple of members of Franz' security team, and a woman he would recognize anywhere.

"Alyse." Cal enfolded his wife in a tight hug, which she returned with equal force, her arms creating a tight, warm circle where for a moment, the world felt right again. "Fancy seeing you in a place like this."

"I could say the same thing." She smiled up at him. "All Franz told me was that you were coming home and that he was sending a car."

"Does this mean I'm done for the night?" Cal looked over at Franz, who was making introductions and directing people in various directions.

It took a minute, but Franz turned to look at him. The President looked harried, but he nodded. "For tonight. I'm afraid I'll need you in the office in the morning. The Assembly wants to speak with the Ambassadors directly. We'll be debriefing you and the other alchemists in the morning. First though, you want to tell me what harebrained mission my son-in-law and nephew have run off on?"

Ah, yes. Cal braced himself. "They're sneaking into Petrayevka with Anika Marskaya to bust the General and his colleagues out of prison. After that, Proteus and Firestorm are making a raid on the airfield south of the city. Mihalov's intelligence located both, and they're hoping to take out the factories and the planes under manufacture, and as many sitting on the ground as possible."

Franz's expression tightened. "Let's keep this classified for now. Understood?"

"Oh, do I ever."

With that, he was dismissed. Within minutes everyone except for three mechanics clearly there to help maintain the plane was being bundled into the otherwise unremarkable government cars, leaving only four of them for the last car: Alyse, himself, Gloria, and Alexei. "Guess you're staying with us tonight," Cal commented, though he smiled.

"Unless you've got somewhere else you'd like to go?"

Gloria shook her head, and smiled. "No, Dad. Home sounds great."

"Good. Let's go then. It's not much warmer here than it was up North."

The rest of the evening passed in a rush. The government car dropped them home, and since not even Alyse had eaten, Cal went back out to pick up Aerugean from the little shop a couple of blocks away. They all ate dinner, and then—leaving Gloria and Alexei talking over hot tea in the living room—Cal practically dragged his wife upstairs.

Practically, because he didn't really have to try very hard. She almost led him, and after he had taken a long hot shower that warmed him through and loosened muscles stiff from sitting for hours and the jostling of the plane, he let himself be distracted in bed by his beautiful Alyse.

Afterwards, he lay on his back, his head resting on a pillow. Alyse lay beside him, propped up on one elbow.

"What's the matter?" she asked finally. "You seem distracted, and not by me."

"I've been wondering that myself," Cal admitted, staring up at the ceiling. She was the first person to ask him, and he thought, she might understand the thoughts that had plagued him the past several weeks, but especially the last couple of days. "I think it's that something feels off, about this whole mission, and not just because Charlie got hurt." Though that was certainly part of it. "This… this isn't how we do things. At least, not before. When Aerugo had a coup and they were threatening our people and theirs, we charged in and fixed things. When Xing had a coup, we charged in and fixed things. It was clear cut, and it was an open, honest fight, and we knew what we had to do, and we did it. When Drachma invaded, we knew how to respond, with full force."

"This was different. It wasn't a State Alchemist mission. Those are pretty straight forward to. We go in when regular soldiers aren't the right solution. Except this time, we sent in soldiers, and were told to try not to fight them. We got stuck in a situation we couldn't just blast through, and when we started to make headway, the enemy dropped a bomb on our heads from the sky."

"You don't like planes, do you?"

"Well, no, and I'm not sure if it's because I don't like the idea of my enemies coming out of the sky and out of range, or if I'm just an old fart who doesn't like change because it's not what I knew."

"You like things uncomplicated. Something's wrong, there's a villain, you charge in and play hero." Alyse's hand played idly with the curls on his head.

He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling. "True. We're also not used to being outmatched. For decades we were the superior military force on this side of the desert." He wasn't about to claim they could have beat Xing if the entire Empire had come after them. He knew better. "After Drachma invaded, we've never really regained the full numbers and strength we had, but it wasn't necessary."

"So now, you're worried that if we leave Drachma alone, they won't leave us alone."

That wasn't quite it, or was it? "I'm not optimistic about Mihalov's chances. Let's put it that way." As much as Cal wanted to believe that the better choice would win, in Drachma that rarely seemed to be the case. "They're good folks, and I want them to win this one, but Savahin… hostages, death threats, dropping bombs from the sky on people who just want to retrieve their own. He might be crazy. He's definitely dangerous, and unpredictable. If he's plotted this long to take over Drachma, and he's willing to just drop bombs on us, than I don't trust him to stay inside his own borders, even if he does manage to subdue all of Drachma."

"Does anyone else in government or the military share this opinion?"

"I don't know." Cal opened his eyes. If he craned his neck a little, he could just see her face. "I'll find out tomorrow. I think I have to convince them that he's a legitimate threat to us, even if he's left us alone to retreat. It's only because he thinks we've been defeated. Showing throat to a guy like this though, it's like rolling over for a rabid wolf. You give him what he wants, and you still might get your throat ripped out."

Alyse blanched. "That's…graphic."

"Sorry." He reached out, clasping her free hand in his. "It's been a pretty morbid couple of weeks. I just hope us getting out of Drachma really will be the end of it." More than that though, he wished he could believe it.

January 25th, 1990

For a moment, Sara wasn't sure what had awakened her. The room was dark, but she did not have the fast-beating heart or light sweat that normally came with suddenly coming out of one of her nightmares. So, she hadn't been having one of those.

She lay in the dark, seeing only where the dim blue light of the moon cast rectangles across the bed. Franz' half was still empty. The clock on the wall, barely visible, ticked away past two in the morning.

Booted footsteps outside the bedroom told her what she needed to know. Someone was downstairs and awake. They seemed to be in the living room or kitchen, and she thought she recognized the tread. Franz had come home.

The steps moved away, and she heard the click of the refrigerator door opening, then closing. Then boots again, which vanished, muffled by carpet; the living room, then. Which meant he probably wasn't coming straight to bed.

Curiosity got the better of her. Carefully, slowly, she got to her feet and, foregoing her frustrating crutches, she limped softly to the door, keeping one hand on the end of the bed, then on the dresser by the door as she opened it. The door, well oiled, crept open without so much as a creak.

From there, Sara could see past the entry and into the living room. The couch—which faced towards the recliners, the fireplace, and past that, the dining room to one side, and the kitchen to the other—had its back to her, and she could see the back of Franz's head above it as he eased heavily into the cushions and kicked his feet—now boot free—up onto the coffee table, just a few inches from a full plate of leftovers from dinner; cold chicken, pasta salad, and a slice of the cheesecake her father had brought over earlier that day. There was a sigh, and then Franz tipped up a bottle and took a drink, and then for a moment he went still, letting his head loll back, eyes closed.

Sara felt a wistful ache. Was this what his nights had been like since her death? He looked lost and alone. Well, he wasn't alone anymore. "Is this a private feast?" she asked softly into the silence.

Startled, Franz sat up, his head whipped around so fast his glasses slid down his nose. "Belle… did I wake you?"

"I don't sleep very heavily these days," she reminded him, though Sara supposed that was not entirely true. She had slept a lot in the hospital, partially by virtue of strong medication, to help her heal and restore her body's energy. The past couple of days she hadn't been using anything additional to sleep, and she had finished the rounds of antibiotics they had been giving her at the hospital before she left. All she had now were some—admittedly potent—pain medications she could take for her knee as needed. She preferred not to if she could avoid it. "So, can I join you?"

"Well, yeah." Franz looked slightly flustered.

"Don't get up. I can make it on my own." With that, she hobbled slowly across the entry and put a hand on the couch, which gave her the balance she needed to come around and settle herself down beside him.

Franz watched nervously the entire time; clearly poised to leap to his feet should she go over.

"See, I'm all grown up and walking on my own." Sara teased him as she nestled in closer to his side and kissed his cheek. "So, what are we drinking this evening?"

"We?" He gave her a funny look, then shrugged. "It's just a low-point Aerugean beer. Your son-in-law recommended it." He held it out, and Sara sniffed.

She couldn't remember the last time she had smelled alcohol that wasn't harsh and unpleasant. Except the wine at the house of the man she would rather forget. Yegor; Valhov. It didn't matter now that he was dead. Even that had been sharp and Drachman made. "No, thank you," she shook her head. "But beer and dinner at this hour? Are we in our twenties?"

"I wish." Franz smiled weakly. "I don't normally eat a full meal this late," he added, looking slightly embarrassed. "I missed dinner…and lunch."

"That explains this." Sara reached out and picked up Franz' plate from the table. She couldn't help a sly smile. "Should I feed you?"

Franz snorted, sitting up just enough to put his beer down and take his plate. "I think I can feed my—oh." He paused, realizing what she was doing. "Wow, I'm rusty."
Sara let him take the plate. "It's all right. I'm out of practice, and it's reassuring to know other women haven't been flirting with you while I'm gone." Okay, so maybe she was fishing a little. She knew that Franz hadn't fallen for anyone else, but that didn't mean women wouldn't have thrown themselves at the handsome President of the Military, powerful widower.

"Not many." His ears were turning a little red, even in the dim light from the windows and the small lamp beside them. "I considered dating…briefly," he admitted softly. "I just couldn't do it. All I did was compare them to you… and realize I was still completely, utterly, totally devoted to you, even if you weren't here."

"You know I already love you with all of my soul, right?" Sara asked, even as her throat tightened with emotion. "But I really like hearing it, so don't stop."

"You like that, huh?" he grinned.

"If it weren't two in the morning, and you hadn't eaten, and I could move faster than a turtle, we'd be in bed," Sara assured him. Perhaps the two things that were really straining her patience: the fact that her doctors had forbidden her to do alchemy until she was declared healthy enough to do so, and that despite feeling much better, her leg still made it very difficult for anything more intimate than cuddling and kissing. Not that she minded those in the slightest.

"I see. So, if I wolf this down and carry you gallantly back the bedroom we won't both pass out from exhaustion before things get interesting?"

"Well I won't, but I can't speak for you. You look exhausted. I know there's a couch in that office of yours. Don't you use it?"

"I might have dozed off at my desk a couple of times, but there hasn't been time." Franz began to eat.

Sara watched, patiently. There was no rush. "So, is there any news you can share with me today from work?"

"Well, the paperwork is complete. You're officially alive now."

"That's a relief."

"You're also now listed as missing in action and then rescued, which means that you are now on unpaid medical leave but you still have your commission."

"Unpaid?"

Franz swallowed a bite and smiled. "It would look horribly like favoritism if it were paid leave, particularly as we aren't asking for eight years of back pay."

"I suppose that would look greedy."

"It also means that if you choose to, you can come back to active duty when you're well. I mean, only if you want to, but you can make that decision."

"Would that be a conflict of interest if my husband is my highest ranked commanding officer?" That had been one of Riza Hawkeye's primary reasons for retiring when she had; her marriage to Roy would have made any assignment questionable. None of the other Presidents' wives in her lifetime had been military themselves, so it hadn't been an issue.

"That would depend on what you wanted to do. If you go back to training State Alchemists, what you're doing is an educational and supervisory job, and there's certainly no conflict of interest there."

"Unless we lead an alchemist coup of the government."

"You're not making this easy you know."

Sara's nose wrinkled a little as she grinned, feeling cheeky. "And you like it."

Franz paused long enough to lean over for a quick kiss. "Yeah, I do."

"Enough to tell me what happened with the mission to Karmatsk now that I apparently have my clearance back?"

For a moment he just stared at her blankly. Then he laughed and shook his head. "All this to pry information out of me?"

"No." Sara shook her head, sliding one hand up his arm and letting it rest on his shoulder. "I really would like to snuggle up with you for a few days, but I also want to know how our daughter is, and if she was able to pull off what over two-thousand Amestrian soldiers couldn't do."

Franz had finished his plate. He set it down and reached once more for his beverage. "There are no Amestrians or Cretans left in Karmatsk." He took a swig. "Tonight, Trisha brought home Fischer, the civilians, and the Ambassadors plus most of their staff. Tomorrow the rest of the staff and the State Alchemists that were up there will be home. Trisha's flying out again at dawn. I hope she's hard asleep by now in her own bed."

"How long until the units in retreat make it back to the border?"

"Three days, as long as they are allowed to retreat unmolested."

"Do you think that will happen?"

"It should." Franz frowned. "Savahin wants us out of Drachma so he can consolidate control and push back against the exiles. Unfortunately, I think we've done him a favor."
Sara waited while he took another drink. "What do you mean?"

"Valhov would never have attacked Karmatsk outright with the Ambassadors there, and with notable civilians from other countries. It would have alienated us, turning Amestris, Creta, and all our allies against them."

It clicked, and Sara felt a sinking in her stomach. "When they find out our people have been rescued, there's nothing to keep Savahin from holding back."

Franz nodded somberly. "The secret of the plane will probably be out too. First the chase when we rescued you, and then the sounds of a plane taking off and landing in Karmatsk. If we're lucky, he'll think the government simply took one of its own when they escaped, but he has to know by now that no Drachman planes are missing. I think it's only a matter of time before it all comes out in the open. As long as all we've done is what we promised, the Assembly hopes he'll leave us alone and be content to stay within Drachma's borders."

"Do you think he'll stay there?"

"Again, the Assembly does." Franz finished the bottle. "Your father and Alphonse don't agree."

Which meant they knew something. It always meant they knew something, especially if they both agreed. "Why not?"

"Something about the other side of the gate." It sounded odd, coming out of Franz' mouth. It had been years since Sara had even thought about the other side of the gate, and the Truth between them. "The world they were in—the one Krista's father came through from—there was a war after Ed and Al left, but they saw the beginnings of what led to it while they were there. Ed said that… a charismatic leader led a people's revolt. The one they saw failed, but he found out later, from the letters he left, that the War happened, and it involved multiple continents and countries. They called it a second World War, as if one isn't hard enough to imagine. That's where they first saw planes, and rockets…" He shook his head. Sara knew that, as much as Franz had always believed her family's crazy stories, and even with his own daughter-in-law coming from blood from the other side, it was really hard to grasp. Sara found it much more believable now, somehow, after practically living another live for most of a decade, and that still in her own world.

She slipped the bottle out of Franz' hand, and set it on the table before wrapping both of her arms around him. "I remember him telling me a bit about that once. It's possible that Savahin could be the same kind of monster. Or… like you said, he might be content with just Drachma. It's still possible that he'll lose too, you know. This isn't Drachma's first explosive internal government change." She'd met political prisoners from the last three. "His depravities will get him ousted too, in time. There are some lovely cells in Borsag with no view whatsoever."

Franz winced, and she felt immediately sorry she'd brought it up, even in jest. "I don't like the feeling that we're abandoning allies, even if staying out of their business is the safest and most tactically sound thing to do."

"From what I understand, this is exactly what Mihalov has asked of us." Sara had spent her time in the hospital not only plying family for information, but reading every public paper she could get her hands on to try and understand anything she could. It had frustrated her that hospital rooms did not all have televisions. That would have been extremely useful. "We've removed our people, making them no longer his responsibility, and Amestris has made it clear that we support the government we allied with, but aren't going to get in the way. That still legitimizes his claim. That means a lot in Drachma. It means you respect him, but also his right and ability to fight his own battles—their own battles." There was an entire chunk of the government up there after all. "What?"

Franz was looking at her oddly. "I didn't think of that," he admitted.

"It's a Drachman thing." Sara shrugged. "Their stories aren't big on heroic saviors. Most of their folktales involve people suffering through things on their own and becoming stronger. They save themselves alone, or by working together, but no one comes in to rescue them from others."

"That… explains a lot, actually."

"Nice to know all of my in-depth reconnaissance is useful for something." She hugged him a little tighter, fighting the yawn that slipped out anyway. "Maybe we should continue dissecting the Drachman mindset in the morning."

"I think that's a smart idea," Franz agreed. "Though you'll have to let go of my neck if I'm going to put my dishes in the sink first."

"I will, in a minute…" Sara looked up at him, feeling a little silly about how tired she was. "Do you think… you could gallantly carry me back to bed like you said?"

Franz smiled, and kissed her. "Anytime, my beloved."